Army
by Jokerfest
Summary: She is the new Architect and has something of a mysterious past.  They all do but she is also Arthur's older sister.  Eames may be a little over his head with this particular woman.  Eames/OC  Arthur/Ariadne  Eventual M.
1. Happy Birthday

**Hey, ever since seeing Inception I've been meaning to write a fanfiction but couldn't figure out my angle of attack. Now I have. For those of you who have my read my work, harass me and harass me often. For those of you who haven't do what the others do. I'm a procrastinator and believe it or not, when you write a review, a quick 'hurry up, you're taking too long' actually gets a chapter up faster. Granted, I am a college student and have five siblings but that is beside the point. Anyway, I have yet to hit the juicy details since I'm still writing chapter 2, but let me know what you think of this. **

**Jokerfest**

Army was spattered with freckles, over those she was spattered with blood. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low braid, the lazy ones he'd watched her make as a girl. It had been awhile and he wasn't sure of the protocol that came with seeing a long lost sister. Not that he'd been worried, of course. If anyone could take care of themself it would be the woman that had practically raised him. She strode into his apartment as if she'd been gone for a few minutes, not six years. In her left hand she held a gun, the other, three grocery bags. She didn't say anything as he opened the door for her to enter.

She looked about the place, did she approve? He chided himself for thinking that. He followed after her, to the kitchenette. She set down the grocery bags and then the gun. She looked through the small opening of the kitchenette that faced the living room. He looked back, waiting.

"This place is boring, Arthur, Jesus."

He smiled, something that he wasn't prone to doing since she'd left. She turned on the sink and wiped off her face, her hands, slicked back loose strands from her hair. They both knew the act was futile, since water never did make her hair straight or his.

"How've you been," she queried. She looked down to rummage through the bags. He heard the soft thud of a box and other items. He suspected what she was doing but knew instinctively not to enter the kitchen. That had always been the rule. When she was in the kitchen, you weren't. Simple.

"I work in the extraction business, y'know, for dreams."

"I've heard of that in some of my circles. Some of my clients have been trained to withstand their dreams being invaded, not that that's important in my line of work," she grinned up at him.

"It's trying but also rewarding. It brings a certain freedom. You should try it, you do have the gift of total recall."

"I remember," she said cocking a brow. He smiled at the joke but he'd been serious. He didn't like her chosen job of assassin. There were far more repercussions to her being caught, far more chances that she could get killed herself. Granted, she was far better trained in martial arts, guns, military tactics and espionage than he'd ever be but that still did not take away the worry.

"You think that I should try it," she asked as she began digging through the cupboards. She pulled down a bowl and it became clear what she was doing. She looked down, concentrating on her work.

"What have you got to lose?"

"Suppose I do try, would you take me on? I know you worry for me little brother but if I'm no good at it, what then?"

"Then I suppose you can go back to putting new holes in dirty politicians."

"What kind of positions are there," she asked her grey-green eyes fixing on his. He wanted to lean over the wall, separating the kitchenette from the living room but he settled for leaning against it, his back turned to her.

"Almost the same thing as an assasination outfit, minus a gruesome death. Extractor, Forger, Point Man, Architect. Of course, there's also the chemist that makes the sedatives. We enter the mind of the Mark and take the information that we were sent to find."

"That so? Heard you were involved in an Inception, what about those?"

She didn't see the expression that flitted across his face. That job had been successful yes, but only just. There had been so many errors and so many factors that hadn't been taken into account. The employer, Saito, had been lost in limbo and afterwards had undergone several months of therapy. He was rooted firmly in the present time but Arthur knew that the man would be haunted by that imaginary fifty years. He knew that sometimes Saito would pause in whatever he was doing, that his mind would wander, have some dark thought. He knew because he'd seen it happen to Dom.

"You _have_ been checking up on me," he said finally.

"I'm your sister. My job is to make sure you don't get in over your head and beat up the assholes that try to hurt you when you do."

For a few minutes they didn't speak, it was simply the sounds of her cooking. He heard the oven open and she stepped out of the kitchen. She was holding a dvd, The Outsiders.

"Our favorite."

Arthur smiled. They both settled down on the sofa.

Ponyboy opened a tattered _Gone with the Wind_. The old church for a moment, was a haven and the flames that start licking the building had yet to appear. The oven dinged and Arthur paused the movie as his sister got up and headed back to the kitchen.

"Don't pause it," she said as she went back into the kitchen, "just turn the volume up."

Arthur unpaused and flicked the volume up higher. He heard more noise from the kitchen but knew that Army is just waiting for her favorite part.

_Nature's first green is gold / her hardest hue to hold / her early leaves a flower / but only so an hour / then leaf sudsides to leaf / so Eden sank to grief / so dawn goes down to day / nothing gold can stay. _

She said the lines with Ponyboy, her voice barely a whisper.

She came out with a small cake. She rested the platter on the small table and took out a few candles. She stuck them in carefully and Arthur sat up over the sofa and watched. He knew he resembled a ten year old, the way he leaned his arm over the chair and watched her, knees pressed into the cushions. He didn't care. He'd secretly anticipated this small moment, this small happiness, when Army would come back for him.

"Happy birthday,"she said catching his eyes.

"Thanks."


	2. Introductions

She followed Arthur into the abandoned warehouse. He told her that for the next two to three months this was where they would spend the majority of their time. He explained to her each role that they would all have to play. She was to be the new Architect.

_"What happened to the old one?"_

_"A college degree. Are you in or not?"_

He'd been more than a little peeved about the question. Army thought that maybe the previous Architect had been something of a love interest. She knew with all the time she'd be spending with him she'd weasel the answer out of him eventually. He was like her, closed up.

The warehouse housed nothing spectacular, a few chairs, Formica tables. However, amidst it all there was a suitcase. The PASIV device Arthur had mentioned? Sitting in one of the chairs was a man. From his stance, from the way that he watched her brother, Army was certain that it was Cobb. His eyes were a hard blue and his hair a darkening blond, combed back severely. His lips were stern but she could see laugh lines in the corners. He'd been happy once or at least he'd been happier before he'd arrived. She watched him with civilian eyes, if only to be fair to Arthur. It wouldn't help if she looked at him with killer eyes, if she noted that he was right-handed, his left leg more favored than the right. She cursed inwardly, forcing herself to look at him with normal preconceptions. He was her new boss, end of story.

Cobb gestured to the other chairs. "Please, sit." She almost winced as her mind placed the area he was most likely to have come from. She placed him in America, probably out west.

She sat down. Arthur began setting up the PASIV. Back at the apartment he'd explained to her the cool sensation that would pass through her arm, the sedative. He'd talked to her about the Projections, their hostility at awkward changes in the dream environment. She stored the information, nodding as he spoke. She'd smeared icing on his face after he'd finished explaining the importance of not thinking too hard on one's own thoughts. He hadn't smiled, so it was something that was either serious or he was too old for icing. She thought it was the former.

"I'm sure that your previous area of expertise required various escape routes, hideouts, yes?"

"Sure, yes. When I finish the job, I gotta leave."

Cobb stood up and gestured to one of the tables. She moved until she was at his shoulder looking down. It was a maze. She followed it carefully with her eyes.

"What is this?"

"Arthur mentioned that you have total recall. When you walk away from this, you'll remember every detail won't you?"

"Yes."

"In the dream, the Architect shapes our world. Yes, they create paradoxes, scenery, even scents but the most important part is this. This is what keeps us safe, what keeps us one step ahead of the Mark."

"I understand."

"Let's put that understanding to the test. Arthur, get us started would you."

"Have a seat, Army," Arthur said nodding his head toward a chair. In truth, he was nervous. He wanted her to have this job, moreso than Cobb or even she realized. It had been years, so many years, since he'd heard her voice, sat next to her and shared a birthday cake. Arthur knew that if she were to be turned down he probably wouldn't see for another six years, possibly longer. She'd be a shadow again.

...

Army watched the needle slide under skin. If anyone else had done this she would probably have broken their arm, but it was Arthur. He didn't say a word as he inserted the needle, he was nervous. His face showed a tightness, that no one could notice, no one save for close friends and her. She had an idea of why he'd asked her to do this job.

She looked over to Cobb and saw that he had already slid the needle in. She felt the cool sensation and watched almost disinterestedly as Arthur started the machine. Her eyes closed, still watching Arthur.

...

They were in a courtyard, old cobblestones beneath their feet. There was an elegant fountain a few feet to their left, something themed around Greek mythology she supposed. She glanced around at the buildings, noting their Victorian air. She also noted the vantage points that a sniper could use and the many windows that would have been at her disposal, had she so chosen. There were also people milling about, mostly older sort, she caught some French mostly, some English.

"Where are we,"she finally asked.

Cobb was in a suit, dark navy and white shirt. He wore no tie and she liked the small informality. Looking down she was wearing paint stained jeans and a Misfits t-shirt. She remembered the outfit being one of her favorites in high-school. She'd given the items to Goodwill in the eleventh grade.

"We are at the heart of the maze I showed you. The buildings, the people, they're just layers, what we use to convince the Mark that what they're seeing is real."

Cobb started walking and Army stayed close beside. She didn't admit it aloud but she was excited. In a dream, anything was possible right?

"This is the heart of the maze, huh?" She glanced up, saw blue sky and a few birds flapping lazily about. The detail was exquisite.

"Think of the building as parts of the maze as well. However, as we both know, a maze on paper has only one set route. An Architect can use buildings, shrubbery, bodies of water, to build their lines."

"The lines in the maze aren't definite. I can change how we move about, create backdoors. That's what you're getting at, aren't you?"

"Precisely." He gestured to a building, a quaint restaurant. It was nameless but she supposed in a world that was based on imagination it hardly mattered. He opened the door and for a moment Army met the disconcerting glares of his subconscious. Army started a little but regained her composure when they turned back to their tables and continued talking quietly.

"That was weird," she couldn't help but mention.

"You'll get used to it. There's a table for us, at the back."

There was an old oak countertop and behind it an old man and woman. They flitted about, taking orders from the patrons that stood in line. Surrounding the bar were tables scattered like moons from a planet. The chatter should have been background noise but as it was, Army listened to each table, making sure the talk was innocent.

"Now do you know where we are?"

"Yes, and if there were a backdoor to this establishment, it would lead to the very edge of the maze. Is there an edge? To a dream?"

Cobb smiled, "Would you like me to show you?"

...

Eames strode in, same as always. Arthur held his disdain in check. Cobb had sent notification to Eames of another job and Arthur had hoped that after the inception the fashionably handicapped man would decline. However, judging from the carefree grin the man sported, he was not only willing to accept the job but was eager. He'd already begun researching their next target, Audrey Malone.

"Hello Arthur, you look as stiff as ever."

Arthur did not deign to reply but continued typing up details of the job on the laptop.

"And who is this lovely-"

"No."

Arthur had expected to be given time to explain the nature of Eames to Army. He'd expected the man to be in some faroff location in Africa or Australia. Arthur held back a sigh. Apparently he wouldn't be that lucky.

"No?"

Arthur swiveled his chair to face the man, who was bending over his sister with genuine curiosity. Would it be so awful to stab the man with a pencil, to strangle him with his own tie? Could it not, in fact, be considered beneficial to mankind?

"Leave her alone."

Eames looked down at her and Arthur knew when the truth had struck the man.

"Tell me, is it pure coincidence, that she has the same nose, the same dark hair? Course, you don't have such adorable freckles." Eames moved a hand to touch Army's face.

"Stay away from her."

"Oh, but she's gorgeous. I'm sure she's much more fun than you."

"She's also much more deadly, Mr. Eames." Arthur sighed. He supposed no one was better at protecting Army than herself. Soon enough Eames would learn that Army was her own force, that she wouldn't take to the man's flirting at all. He allowed himself a smirk. He turned up the volume on the laptop. He wondered if Army would appreciate the kick. She wouldn't know that it was a far cry from what he was used to, that his change in music had also changed since they'd last met.

...

"Why is Crazy Train playing from the sky?"

"That's our kick, though, this isn't Arthur's usual choice."

"So the outside world can also affect our time in the dream?"

"Yes, movement, sounds, those are variables that can still trickle down through the subconscious."

"So...you have to get the target in an area that's quiet?"

Army spoke but at the same time observed the setting of the dream collapse. The building crumbled into nothing, the ground beneath her feet cracked, shuddered. Then she felt her whole body shift.

...

"Grey and green. Such a beautiful combination."

Army looked up and saw a man hovering over her. His smile was far from trustworthy, so it was little surprise when her hand shot up of its own accord and punched him in the throat.

"Army, some self control." She heard Arthur chide her but Army could hear the laughter just beneath the droll tone. From his statement alone she learned two things; one Arthur didn't like the man and the other was, that he had anticipated her reaction.

She looked over to see the man, stumbling away and clutching his throat, cheeks a ruddy color. If she were a more moral person she may have blushed or even apologized. Instead she watched him regain composure or at least catch his breath.

"My name is Army. And Arthur, I'm positive, didn't mention that people don't hover over me while I sleep."

"With," he gasped, "good reason." He offered a weak smile and she couldn't help but smile back. Not many people could joke after being punched in the throat. It was a good thing she'd held back most of her force, it would have been a shame to kill him so soon.

"Army meet Eames," Cobb said as he got up from his chair, "he's our Forger."

"Ah, suppose that would explain him being in the warehouse. Maybe it even explained him gawking at me."

"Yes, he must have just noticed the family resemblance."

Army stood, tugging her jacket down a little as she did so. She missed the Misfits tshirt that she'd been wearing in the dream. She looked at Eames as he sat on the edge of the formica table. His hand was still at his throat but there was a spark of laughter in his eyes. He caught her eying him and winked. Slicked hair, blue green eyes that twinkled with mischief and his mouth. She wondered how many women had been wooed with supple lips like that spouting such a devilishly soothing accent.

"What does Army stand for," he managed carefully. She imagined that a bruise was forming. At least it would take away from the tragedy that was his clothing. Nothing, not even God could forgive such a horrid flower print shirt. The brown jacket he wore over it, did nothing but accentuate the stupidity of the pink and purplish hue.

"Andromeda."

"Ah. Army it is then."

She nodded, "Army it is. I almost killed you, you know."

"I noticed."

"No, not just now," she smiled, "I mean, I was almost paid to, as in...well, Bang bang, dead."

"Funny world we live in."

"Yeah, good thing I thought you were too easy."

He removed his hand from his neck and offered a nod, before looking her directly in the eye. "Oh, I am."

She could practically hear the veins cropping up on Arthur's forehead. However, she was a big girl and she knew how to play the game, perhaps even better than Eames even knew.

...

Eames watched the way that she moved. Her movements were precise, so similar to her brother's but the walk was also sensual, hips, lovely rounded hips, swaying beautifully. She was almost as tall as Arthur save for about five inches. She wasn't as thin, thank God, and had dips and curves that Eames wanted to map ever so slowly with his hands. He looked at her face once more, it was almost classically beautiful, a dark Marilyn Monroe. The freckles, well, it made her look almost innocent. He was sure that fooled a lot of men, before the punch to throat he'd been fooled as well. He adjusted the ice pack carefully and then walked over to her.

"So,"he began.

"So..."

"How can someone as interesting as you have such bore of a brother?"

"He's not a bore. He probably doesn't like you. Besides," she said as she took off her jacket, "what makes you think that you're so much more exciting?"

Sweet blessed tank, Eames thought briefly. The removal of her jacket, provided a neat little tank top that hardly did anything to conceal her breasts. Eames would never have guessed that anyone related to Arthur could be so tantalizing. Had he any less training he would have licked his lips and rubbed his hands together.

He eyed the tattoo on her shoulder, and of course the small arsenal of weapons strapped to various places on her back.

"You gonna need all that?"

"Bring a condom for a fuck, cause you never know your luck."

He grinned. Yes, she was going to be so much more fun than Arthur.


	3. History

**Glad to get some feedback from you all :D Yeah, on a roll here, I love seeing great movies and then getting the chance to work with them. Forewarning friends, this relationship isn't flash bang immediate. Andromeda is seriously fucked up and Eames, we all know he hasn't got everything together. But yeah, all the same I hope you enjoy the ride.**

Arthur and Andromeda.

At first she was alone, it wasn't a life that suited her. At the tender age of five she'd always felt the need for a companion, one true friend. She supposed the listlessness and the constant imaginary friends let her parents know this fact.

She remembered pressing her cheek against her mother's belly, remembered soft hands in her hair as she felt the baby kick.

"I can feel you, little baby,"she said softly. She heard her mom chuckle and then they both went to the kitchen for lunch.

...

He followed her everywhere, up the stairs, down the stairs, into the living room, outside. She loved it. She was older than him and knew that meant that she was to be his teacher. There was a whole world of dangers he had to know about, how to eat peaches without getting the roof of your mouth grated on the pit. How to spit really far and show up the other kids at the bus stop. How to walk backwards without running into anything, and the list went on.

...

She didn't understand father's personality, his need to yell at her and Arthur. Mother was often quiet during these times and Andromeda would never ask for her mother's defense. It would seem wrong. However, she often sent Arthur for various treasure hunts, errands, and to the drugstore for candy when these times arose. She was her brother's shield, she understood.

...

"Light it up for me wouldja?"

"Yeah,sure."

She inhaled the smoke, held it in, looked upwards as the drug took affect. She passed the joint to her brother. He took a drag, coughed a bit and then passed it back. They didn't have to talk, rarely ever did. Their language consisted of looks, sighs, chuckles, sometimes a soft touch to the shoulder. Words were last, because they were practically one and the same, they just happened to be two bodies.

She breathed the smoke through her nose and then winked at Arthur. He frowned but took back the joint practicing to do the same.

...

Arthur was on the porch outside of their home. His hands were on his knees and he was waiting for her. His hair was combed back, his shirt neatly pressed. Andromeda remembered the gradual change, despite her efforts. Their father had managed to change Arthur. The man's words cut the young boy, chipping away at parts that the older man deemed errant.

Andromeda decided from that day on, her father would never shape her future. She joined the military. She'd considered college but there was really nothing she'd taken an interest in, nothing that mattered more to her than her ability to protect.

...

She remembered the death of her first enemy combatant. She had expected to feel some kind of remorse, some sympathy for the man or his family. She felt nothing. She wondered if it was strange, her lack of feeling. No doubt she felt things but none of it was guilt related. During her downtime she wrote to her brother. In his last letter he'd told her about mom being in the hospital. She'd tried to feel something, she really did but there had been nothing. She wondered if Arthur knew how she was, probably did. He loved her anyway and she figured that was the most important part.

...

He'd gone on his own military stretch, Arthur. He'd been in MIT and then mysteriously dropped out. She wondered if he was happy. She'd progressed much farther than a soldier. In the military her lack of spirit, her stunted sense of camaraderie, drew a certain kind of attention. She was discharged and immediately scooped up for more dangerous things.

Apathetic, cold, withdrawn, these were only a few of the words used to describe her. She understood the fear she invoked. Mind, she did feel a twinge of sorrow at the idea that her fellow soldiers had never really understood her. It was during those moments she'd brew green tea and think about Arthur.

She'd stopped writing and had decided to keep tabs on her younger brother. Through various contacts she'd followed his nefarious yet brilliant acts all over the world. She was pleased to know that he remained a dreamer, that her father's actions had not completely hindered him.

...

She wiped the last of blades clean, then moved on to disassembling her gun. It was soothing, taking things apart, putting them back together. She enjoyed the smaller parts becoming a much greater machine. However, she missed her brother. There was a dull ache in her chest, something heavy that troubled Andromeda. Rarely anything troubled Andromeda and so she decided one day to pick up the phone.

It rang, three times and it was all she could do to keep the excitement out of her voice.

"I wanna know where he is."

And of course, the voice told her.


	4. Plans

**Alright guys another chapter out, this one is a little wordy, but as usual the backstory has to be thrown down some kinda way. next chapter is a lot more Eames, Army and an angry Arthur... Enjoy and review.**

Ideas are dangerous. No one understood this better than Cobb and Army. Cobb understood the perseverance of an idea. He understood that it was more of an infection, except in many cases far more contagious. Army understood that ideas, especially the good ones, could get one killed. She'd been the death of many an idea and she'd shaped history accordingly.

Now, a patent applies to an invention or an idea that has come to fruition. There were no laws for taking an idea that had yet come to real. This was where dreamers such as Cobb's team came to be useful. This was where assassins were sometimes too late. Audrey Malone had discovered the cure to a very disabling disease. However, she was also keeping her theories to herself for fear of other colleagues stealing her idea. Army could feel sorry for the woman. She could understand the need to be first, especially after working so hard to complete her goal. However, Army had been held many people at gunpoint, many, many people and had learned to bury that smidgen of remorse.

Besides, when there was money involved, it was easy to pull the trigger, it was kind of an awful way to say 'fuck you, I'm running the show' but to some degree Army knew that nothing put down a problem like thinking better than a bullet between the eyes.

Audrey Malone discovered the cure for systemic lupus. She had done it in a spacious and personally owned lab, one her late-father had procured for actually, with her own personal staff. The client, in shape of no real mystery, was her husband. He was Paul Malone. He'd married the twenty-four year old not out of love, though, that was what the young woman believed. He'd seen her potential and knew that near in her future she would be easier to exploit were she his bound to him. He knew that her cure was her plan to launch her own company, under her name. He had had the prenuptials signed, of course, and knew that if she were to come up with the cure the proceeds would most likely fall to her.

And he couldn't have that.

Army looked down at the picture of the woman. She had coffee skin and long brown colored hair. She had a no-nonsense expression over her delicately heartshaped face. Her eyes were a cool grey and her mouth pulled down in a business-like frown. Army read the details of the woman's personal history, her relationships with family, past lovers, friends. Arthur had been extremely thorough, but she knew that precision was even more essential in the dream world. She would probably have to visit some of Audrey's schools, the home she'd grown up in, even the estate she and her husband lived on. She knew the husband from previous jobs, him being well situated in the mob life. She wondered if the wife knew of her husband's very illegal goings-on. That, Arthur had not mentioned. If he hadn't mentioned it he probably didn't know.

"Arthur hasn't said much about you."

Army closed the manila folder and looked up at Cobb. His hands were in the pockets of his slacks, his posture seemingly one of comfort. Army knew an interrogation when she saw one. She rested the folder on the desk of her station and turned her chair to face him.

"We haven't been in touch for a long time. I can understand if he hasn't said much."

"Yet, you and I both know that's not why Arthur hasn't said anything."

"We do. I'm not gonna bullshit you Cobb, I was _very _efficient at what I did."

"Did?"

Army shrugged. Perhaps, dreaming would take place of her previous profession. It was certainly entertaining enough and it kept her close to her brother. However, if jobs were few and far between she would accept hits.

"For now, I'm completely at your disposal. I told Arthur that I would try this. But that's not what you wanted to ask, is it?"

"No," Cobb said looking down at his shoes. Army saw tension, mild anger, unsurety. The man genuinely looked out for his people and when he saw her, he saw a loose end. She understood this and allowed him the chance to ask his question.

"Have you had any previous involvement with our client, anything that could endanger the team?"

"No, and I'm glad that you asked. I have killed for him but I make it a point not to mention my name or to show my face to _any_ potential clients. If it weren't for Arthur's complete faith in you, I'd have said no to this as well."

She saw him exhale, relieved. His hands left his pockets and she eyed his expression once more. He didn't trust her just yet but he was willing to give her a chance. She understood better now why Arthur took a liking to the man.

"Well, then I have a job for you."

"Shoot," she winked and grinned. The man was simply too serious.

"Eames needs a closer look at Paul, his henchmen, his wife if possible. Is there any way to get ourselves into their circle? Do you know places that they frequent, that sort of thing?"

"Surely Arthur has a handle on that?"

"Yes, but you know these types of places better, don't you?"

"Yes...I do know them better. I also keep tabs on my regulars. Paul usually has his flunkies do close and personal matters. I do hits and extractions for him when he wants things done abroad. This makes sure that none of his guys don't fuck things up and let it lead back to him. He's bought off the court system here, but not in places, like say... Europe. However, what he doesn't know is that I can buy his men back from him. When do you need this to happen?"

"As soon as possible, sometime in the next two weeks."

"Why not go to him directly, ask for this information?"

"Some clients I don't trust to see my face either, one of the heads of the mob would be one of them."

...

"Cobb mentioned us working together," Eames dropped casually.

"Did he," Army said as flipped through a Cosmopolitan magazine. She liked to be in fashion, it made blending in easier. Though she was currently on a break it never hurt to keep tabs. She looked up from a very chic skirt to concentrate on Eames. She took stock of his cat-got-the-canary grin and his twinkling eyes. His lips, she decided were his most useful weapon, because while one watched those his eyes roved over every minute detail. She made it a point to watch his eyes.

"Yes, in fact, he said we were to go to a club, meet a few people."

"Yes, I'm gonna pose as a female escort and you are gonna pose as someone looking to score drugs, maybe befriend Paul if you can. Hopefully, in the next few weeks you can even make an acquaintance with his wife. It depends on how good you are at playing pretend."

He smiled at this and she could briefly understand why Arthur disliked him. Eames was efficient at what he did while maintaining a carefree manner. Arthur had always worked hard to be the best and though he always kept a level head, one could still see the effort it took. Eames showed no effort but probably got excellent results all the same.

"I'm very good, darling. So...when are we taking this trip together and is there any chance I can pick out your outfit?"

"We'll be taking this trip sometime in the next week. My contact is going to inform me of the exact date and I will be dressing myself, thanks."

"Shame, I would have chosen a very tasteful outfit or nothing at all."

"You'd rather it be nothing at all?"

"If only to satisfy my curiosity. I mean, where do the freckles stop exactly?"

Army grinned. She was glad that someone had a sense of humor on the team.


	5. Incognito

**Alright now as all stories go, there is a sort of back and forth in this particular chapter. Hopefully everyone follows it, because I'd hate for anyone to get lost. Anyway hope that you enjoy it, leave a review please and that's about it. Oh and can anyone spot the Avenue Q reference? Just for fun of course :D**

"So...who was the Architect before me?"

Eames glanced away from the mirror, turning to face Army. She was wearing a short black dress, a dipping neckline, allowing for a pleasant view of her cleavage while remaining tasteful. Her legs, long and well shaped, were in Spartan sandals. He figured she wore the sandals more for his benefit than for hers. He wasn't going to ask.

"Ah, the lady that bruised Arthur's heart. Her name is Ariadne." She nodded to herself before coming closer. He thought that she was going to touch him she was so close. Rather, she sidestepped him to look herself in the mirror.

Sweet heavenly father the dress was backless. Eames kept his expression in check, watching as she examined herself.

"Might I suggest a pair of earrings and your hair, lovely as it is, shouldn't hang down this way." He refrained from running his fingers through the aforementioned hair and waited to see what she would say.

"You're right."

"I'm a Forger, darling. Looks are very important in my area."

* * *

"He's not what he seems Army-he's selfish, a lecher, and he'll try to charm you. I've seen what he's done to other women."

"Don't worry Arthur, I can handle it."

"Then you're just playing with him then? There's nothing behind it?"

_Well, besides lust? No, not really_.

"Of course not, just relax. We're just going to visit this club and do a little recon. He'll grope me a little, I'll giggle like a bumbling brunette, we'll be fine."

"That does nothing to reassure me."

Army continued along the aisle of clothing. She eyed some of the mannequins, seeing the way the various fabrics fitted over their forms. She saw her dress at the end of the row. The mannequin even wore the perfect heels, however, she was a tall woman already, it wouldn't do to be too much taller than Eames. She walked up to the dummy, her fingers letting the silk fabric glide through her fingers. She could make tiny incisions in the fabric, wear the straps for a few knives just at her hips where the fabric bunched a little.

"You're going to wear that,"Arthur said calmly. She knew that voice, knew that her brother disapproved. He was going to have to suck it up, she wasn't going as a nun. She was going as an escort girl, they were going to see skin.

"Yes, maybe in a size smaller actually."

Arthur's mouth tightened into a grim line. They didn't need words, she already what he was thinking.

* * *

She was covered in freckles, lovely dots that somehow made her look more exotic than cute. They were along her back, progressing in spatters and spots until they disappeared to who knew where.

"Like this?"

Eames flicked his wandering eyes back to Army's hair. Her dark hair was gathered into messy curls around her head. Loose spirals hung by her ears settling against her shoulders. She had the messy, yet strangely sexy bun pinned with pearl drops. She pulled one out of her hair to show him.

It certainly looked like she could kill someone with it. The end was needle thin and just thick enough to stab someone with.

"I usually don't need to dress up my weapons but this is a special occasion, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Now, my turn."

Army eyed Eames' reflection in the mirror. He wore a dark suit, something Arthur had probably suggested. It wasn't in Eames' usual taste thank goodness and wasn't nearly as plain as Arthur's tended to be. Army turned around and set to work on the tie. It was a little bit crooked but that would probably matter where they were going. Knowing Eames however, he'd probably made the tie crooked on purpose.

"I'm almost positive that Arthur suggested Armani."

"Positive, eh?"

"Well, yes,"Army said giving the tie a firm tug.

"It never occurred to you that I like what I wear? And that I am perfectly capable of picking out boring suits?"

"No, I just thought that you were broke and bought whatever you could afford."

"That really hurts."

"So did that teal and yellow number you wore last time. There finished."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Y'know I was wondering about this tattoo, right there on your shoulder."

Eames traced over it gently, not able to stop his hand from touching her skin. It was soft, warm. She looked over her shoulder, as if suddenly remembering it was there. She glanced up at him, her lashes long and not artificial. The dark blue eye shadow she wore made him think of a 1920s movie star.

"You ever see that movie American Beauty?"

"Can't say that I have."

"It...it's about finding beauty in whatever you see, it's about looking at everything beneath the surface, what's waiting to come up. This is Japanese calligraphy, the rough translation is 'keep looking in'."

"What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"Ask Arthur, he sees it."

Eames caught her eyes, staring off into space, no longer in their little warehouse. She was somewhere that she and Arthur had been once. He wondered what it took to make an assassin in someone as young as she? How long had it taken to shake the beauty out of her world before she had to stitch it into her skin to see it again?

* * *

"Army? Why does he hit us?"

"Because he doesn't want to touch mom."

"Is it better, not hitting mom?"

"No, just different. You want some candy?"

Army looked down at her little brother, saw the sudden realization in his eyes. He knew what happened whenever he was sent to the corner store, he was already eleven and was catching on quickly. She, at sixteen, was going to have to begin coming up with better excuses than candy. Maybe she'd teach him poker or maybe they'd build a fort out in the woods nearby. She lit up a cigarette and put it to her lips. She took out trusty zippo lighter. She had painted it to look like a zombie with his head coming off. Flick, instant decapitation, light, head's back on again.

"I don't want candy."

"Bring me something back then, some KitKats."

He looked at her and then pressed a hand just under her ribs. She flinched but made no sound. She let out a swirl of smoke, watched as it held in a cloud and slowly dispersed, disappearing into nothingness. He didn't move, she didn't ask why. She simply turned and pressed fingers against his chest.

He made a small sound of pain and she asked once more. He nodded and left her to her cigarette.

* * *

She had changed the way she walked, added more sway to her hips, and she wore a sultry smile. Her eyes were the only part of her that were real, but soon, when they entered the club, Eames was sure that that would disappear too. Eames opened the car door for her and she slid in with ease.

When he got behind the wheel, he looked over to her. "What's your name then, love?"

"Lucy. We just met, we're not steady or anything. I like to shop, giggle, and have sex. What's your name?"

Eames laughed when he heard a Valley girl accent toward the end. "My name's Antony Dilena. I like to steal, sell various items on the black market, have copious amounts of sex and gamble."

"I'm sure at least three out of those four things you've just listed are true."

"Yes, my dear, but that only adds to my disguise."

Eames started the car and adjusted the radio.

"Rock, please."

He looked at her for a moment before adjusting the dial. Oasis came on, lead singer _ singing in a melancholy voice that waxed poetic on Army's nerves.

Eames saw her mouth form the words, her lips lingering on the notes in silence. He found himself watching her for a full thirty seconds before stepping on the gas and pulling out onto the street.

"You like to stare. I'll pin it as something that Forgers do."

"You're a beautiful woman, Army."

"My dad used to say that," she said without looking at him. Eames hand tightened on the wheel but he said nothing at her comment. She had wanted a rise out of him, her comment, biting. Maybe it was a poke at her father or herself but she wanted to see if he'd show disgust. He wondered if Arthur knew, probably not.

"You should probably stop flirting with me, puts Arthur on edge."

"Yes, however, I've never been one to do as I was told."

"That's probably why Arthur can't stand you."

"And yourself?"

"I barely know you. I mean, I know enough to assassinate you but not enough to do much else."

"That so?"

"Yup."

"And killing me would be easy?"

Eames watched her eyes appraise him for a moment.

"It would be and it wouldn't take very long either, no offense."

"None taken, thanks for the honesty."

* * *

When they arrived Army let her senses dull. The valet took their car and she giggled as Eames helped her from the vehicle. The one thing about total recall was that even if she glanced at something and deemed it insignificant, later she could pull it back and give it a second look. Eames offered his elbow and she accepted it, letting her weight rest against his arm. She whispered into his ear.

"I'm drawing on all my patience, playing the bimbo. Be gentle."

"Only for you, darling,"he whispered back, planting a kiss near her ear.

* * *

Now let's play pretend.

Lucy the Call-girl and Antony Dilena walk arm and arm into the buzzing club of the decadently rich. A waiter asks where they'd like to be seated. Lucy giggles, bats her lashes. She glances up, eyes the VIP section and purrs softly at her man for the night.

"Can we go to the VIP, baby, looks like fun."

The host looks up from the scantily clad woman's breasts and eyes the VIP section. Lucy notes the fidgeting fingers the general nervousness. She brushes her hand down the host's chest, smiles when he blushes.

"Money is no object friend," and Antony dips into his pocket and withdraws a cleverly concealed stack of cash. The host understands, accepting the cash with a small bow. Lucy presses a kiss to Antony's cheek and squeezes his arm a little tighter, following the host's lead.

She looked about, taking in the large dance floor. An elevated stage had busty, barely clothed women dancing to the sensual trance. Below on the dance floor, there were other women and many men. She observed several of the men, the wall flowers, at the bar. She leans up and whispers something else to her man, he nods, a smirk on his lips.

The host leads them up another level, the sounds of pounding bass are practically an afterthought and there's only a chic restaurant. The lighting is dim and the atmosphere much different, there were mostly men there, men of power.

Lucy, pointed to a table, cooing her approval. It was just near enough the poker game but just far away enough to enjoy a tasteful meal. The host seated them, bowed awkwardly one more time when Lucy blew a not-too-subtle kiss, and left.

* * *

"Wow, well, I'm enjoying myself," Army said as she moved her chair closer to Eames'. She draped herself over the arm rest smiling up at him.

"I'm glad you are because so am I. Let's have a look at that menu shall we?"

"Good, because I'm hungry. Playing Lucy the Slut can be a little can build up an appetite."

"Very true, just looking at you makes me hungry."

Army winks and brushes her hand against Eames' wrist, taking the menu. She glances over the menu, very badly wanting to ask for the steak, medium-well, but knew that women of her station were salad-eaters and not much else. She also wanted red wine but saw a cosmopolitan in her future, maybe a Hypnotiq, which was vodka but hardly. She eyes Eames, noting the path his eyes were following.

"Yes, that short bald man, the one clearly losing his money, is our contact. He's the jealous type and was easy to sway. When we finish our meal, I'm going to get up and use the ladies room. He'll see you alone, invite you for a round and things should pick up from there."

"Very good, just one question."

"Quickly, because our waiter is coming and is about to ask for our order."

"Can you sit in my lap?"

Army eyed Eames for a split second before touching his lips with her fingers. She smiled as he shivered.

"Maybe I will but after tonight I won't be your Lucy."

Eames sighed a half-grin on his lips,"A man has to settle sometimes."


End file.
